


Southern Hospitality and All That

by LasciviousPeach



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Explicit Language, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9401423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LasciviousPeach/pseuds/LasciviousPeach
Summary: Deep down he knows what happened, knows exactly where his mistake was, knows he was careless, knows it could have been prevented.Aka: Thomas sends a message meant for James to Alexander.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hamilton fic on my new account, so let me know what you think?  
> Inspired by one of my embarrassing real life events.

“I don't get it, Jemmy.” Thomas says with a sigh from his seat in front of James Madison’s desk, “I want to hate him. I want to hate him so much, and yet here I am  _ swooning  _ and talking about him to you like a fucking teenager.” 

He keep his eyes trained on the ceiling, watching as the fan circled methodically. It’s times like this when he’s thankful that James’s office is in a different hall than the rest of the legal department. Thomas likes to separate himself from his work occasionally, and by his work he means Hamilton- whose office happens to be right down the hall from his own. 

“I'm sure Alexander would be proud to know he affects you so much.” 

Thomas sighs again, louder this time as he stars at the ceiling. “But that's the thing, he can't know.” 

Thomas knows he should go back to his office and get some work done; he still has to approve Hamilton’s project proposals and he knows that it'll take him at least the rest of the day to read everything- it's Hamilton after all, so it's bound to be no less than forty pages. “I'll see you later, Jemmy.” Thomas says, standing up and letting the bones in his back pop. “Thomas,” James nods at him and Thomas can't help but smile. His friendship with James was one of the only things in his life that didn't stress him out. Sure the man can be standoffish at times and Thomas needs repetitive assurance that he's not being clingy or annoying or that James still wants to be friends with him, but compared to everything else in his life being friends with James was easy. 

He lets himself out of James’ office, and takes the long way to his own. The long way that happens to take him right past Alexander’s. 

The sight that greets him is something everyone in the office is accustomed to. Alexander pacing feverishly back and forth in his office, from his desk to the door and back. His hair is pulled back in a sloppy bun, stray pieces falling around his face and framing it. His suit is wrinkled and Thomas is pretty sure it's the same one he wore yesterday. The dark circles under his eyes only serve to back up his hypothesis, Alexander slept at the office- or didn’t sleep. He was probably up all night working again. He stops his pacing for a moment to pick up an unholy large cup of coffee and guzzles it before setting it down to resume his steps. 

Thomas is no stranger to stress pacing, but he’s also no stranger to Alexander. He knows the man would kill him if he interrupted right now and he’s not ready to die. Instead he turns on his heels and heads back to his office. Once in the comfort of his purple schemed surroundings, Thomas opens his laptop and starts reading through the 43 pages of the Caribbean's proposal. He highlights sections, types notes in the margins, and essentially improves the paper tremendously. Thomas opens his email, attaching the improved version and emailing it to Washington, Hamilton, and Lafayette. Unsurprisingly, his phone vibrates less than a minute after he hits the send button.

_Ham_ (9:38PM): R u fuckin kidding me?

_ Ham _ (9:39PM): U velvet covered prick

_ Ham _ (9:39PM): Y in the hell would u remove Par 8, 10, & 13? They expand on the detailed description from article 3. If u remove them, u have to remove article 3, 4, & 5\. Not 2 mention that without Par 10, section A from page 2 isn’t descriptive enough.  U giant dumbass they were there for a reason. Also Pennsylvania was not spelt incorrectly. 

Thomas rolls his eyes as his phone continues to vibrate on the desk. He watches the screen light up too many times to count as he slips into his winter coat and his black leather gloves. Once he seems that the messages have stopped coming in, Thomas screenshots them and sends them to James.

_ Thomas _ (9:45PM) How am I in love with such a prick?

It’s not the first time he’s admitted it. He’s too mature to pretend as though he’s not in love, plus he’s never been good at lying to himself. It’s easier to admit it outloud than to shy away from it in his own thoughts, plus James is his best friend and Thomas knows no matter how much he complains about his unrequited feelings, James would never tell Alexander. He trusts James inexplicably. Trusts him with their work, trusts his opinions, trusts him with his life. Thomas isn’t actually sure when they’d reached this level of trust- one he hopes James returns- but he isn’t going to question it, not now at least. He locks his phone, slipping it in his pocket and walking into the hallway. All the offices are dark, except for Alexander’s, which isn’t surprising. He steps out into the cool evening air, feeling it blow gently through his curls. Rubbing his hands together, Thomas shivers and walks towards his car. He's got a lot planned for tonight, still has to finish his section of Washington’s new plan, write his half of Lafayette's, and finish reviewing whatever Alexander throws at him. 

By the time he gets home, Thomas’s head is brewing with possible ideas and phrases. He sets up his laptop, and pulls out his phone to play some music. It's at that moment when he sees a new text from Alexander. His stomach drops to his shoes almost as soon as he reads the preview on his lock screen. He feels the dread wrap through his stomach, carelessly tightening his intestines like rope. 

_ Ham _ (9:52PM): I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that wasn't meant for me. 

He sends up a quick pray to God, begging for a reprieve. Deep down he knows what happened, knows exactly where his mistake was, knows he was careless, knows it could have been prevented. He knows exactly what Alexander is talking about, even if he won't -can't- admit it. That feeling lasts until he unlocks his phone and pulls open Alexander’s text box, scrolls up, and sees what had earned the response. It lasts until he sees a screenshot of Alexander's messages followed by his own text. A text that was  _ definitely  _ not meant for Hamilton.

_ Thomas _ (9:45PM) How can I be in love with such a prick?

All at once he feels sick, feels exhausted, and feels the beginnings of a migraine. He can feel the embarrassment rooted within his stomach, at the bottom of his spine, creeping with red flush into his cheeks, neck, and the tips of his ears. Like a train wreck, he can't pull his eyes away from the messages, can't stop reading Alexander's calm response complete with perfect spelling. He sees three little dots show up in the corner of the screen and Thomas knows Alexander’s typing. The thought makes him even more embarrassed so he shuts his phone off, neglecting to send a reply. What can he say to backtrack? Can he do any sort of damage control? Laugh it off maybe, steal Hamilton’s phone and delete the messages and then pretend like Hamilton dreamt it? That seems a little extreme, but he knows Lafayette would help if he asked. “Fuck.” His head starts to ache right between his eyes, as his brain runs through various methods of damage control. Eventually the ache is a pounding, and the light from his kitchen only serves to make his head hurt worse. Thomas has so much work to do, but he knows what the beginnings of a migraine feel like and this is it. He shuts his laptop, makes his way to his room, and crawls under his thick comforter, letting his face smash unattractively into his pillow. It's not even eleven yet and he's already ready to go to sleep. Hopefully when he wakes up in the morning this will all be some bad dream. He crawls out of bed, chucks off his suit and slides into a pair of grey sweatpants and a worn out black tee shirt. He climbs back into his bed immediately, pulling the covers over his head and pretends the ache in his chest isn't as bad as the one in his head. He lets the pounding lull him to sleep. 

Thomas wakes up after what feels like minutes, the sun’s rising though so he knows that it's been hours. His mouth taste gross and he regrets not brushing his teeth before he fell asleep. His head aches as he sits up and rummages around the blankets for his phone. Hopefully last night was some terrible fever induced dream. It proves too much to hope though when he turns his phone on and sees the messages from last night. He feels sick all over again and slumps against the pillows. He has a new message from Alexander and one from James that he ignores. Instead he pulls open his messages and texts his boss. 

_ Thomas _ (10:12AM): won't be in today. Migraine

The response is almost immediate. 

_ Washington _ (10:13AM): Okay, I’ll have Madison send you his notes. Feel better. -G.W _. _

He sighs, tossing the phone onto his nightstand and burrowing back beneath the blankets. 

His dreams are interrupted by the sound of keys and then of a door opening. A few moments later his bedroom door opens and he feels the mattress move. 

“Washington told me you had a migraine. How are you feeling?” James asks, pulling the blankets away from Thomas's face. He groans, rolling over and grunting. “Feel like shit.” He drawls, throwing his hand over his eyes. His accent is so thick that he winces. He feels like crying or screaming maybe, but his head hurts enough as is and he doesn't want to make it worse. 

“Why do I feel like this isn't a random migraine?” James sighs, running his fingers soothingly through Thomas’s curls. It's a routine with them, whenever he gets a migraine. “Cuz it's not.” 

James raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. Thomas rolls over, grabbing his phone and handing it to his friend. James looks at the screen, keeping his other hand in Thomas’s hair. “Why do you have eleven missed calls from Hamilton?” 

“I figured he would have told the whole office by now.” 

James looks even more confused so Thomas tells him to look through his messages with Alexander. He lays patiently as James reads, and he can't wrap his mind around it. Why wouldn't Alexander have told people? Why would he be spreading thomas’s embarrassment around the office? It's what he wants, right? To see Thomas miserable. A more painful thought hits him and he wonders if Alexander won't tell anyone and instead hold it over Thomas’s head. Maybe he'll blackmail him into signing off on his proposals. Thinking makes his head hurt too much so he focuses on the feeling of James’ fingers in his hair and the slow pattern of breathing James has. 

“Well.” James starts, and Thomas can only guess that he's read them all. “I'm assuming that text was indeed not meant for him.” 

Thomas closes his eyes, “It was meant for you.” He hears James shift and when he opens his eyes, James is staring down at him. “I'll make you some mac and cheese and once you eat you can go back to sleep.” 

Thomas tries to smile but it's more of a flinch, James- bless his heart- seems to gets it and hums lightly before pulling his hand from Thomas’s hair. 

What seems like hours later, James convinces him to lay on the couch and shoves a bowl in his hands. It's chartatic lying there, watching shitty television, eating his favourite food while Madison rubs his scalp. It's soothing and when James leaves around three, Thomas drags himself back into bed and sleeps. 

His alarm goes off at six thirty am, and he reluctantly drags himself out of bed. He still has a pretty bad migraine and he's got a meeting with Von Steuben about French production He types out an email on his phone, sending it to the Frenchman. It's ridiculous how pathetic he is, but Thomas knows there's no way he's going to get anything down with his head pounding like it is. Instead he downs some ibuprofen and lays back down. He's awaken later by the insistent and ridiculously annoying pounding on his door. At first he assumes it's James, but his friend would have unlocked the door and not pounded on it. He supposes it could be Adams but that's unlikely as well. There's no way Burr would come to his house, and Washington's aware of his situation. He supposes it might me Angelica but she most likely would have called first. Thomas sighs, standing and dragging himself to the front door. He peeks through the eye hole, fairly surprised to see a certain Caribbean on the other side. He felt a growing annoyance and the remnants of his embarrassment seap up as he dropped his head against the door. He'd just be quiet until Alexander gave up and went home. He unfortunately underestimated the man, because the pounding escalated and resulted in Alexander yelling. 

“Jefferson!” His voice was sharp, “I know you're in there. I just spoke with Madison. Open the damn door.” 

Thomas rolls his eyes, peeking out through the peephole again. Alexander was looking right at the hole and through the transitive property Thomas as well. Although he logically couldn't see Thomas, the Virginian felt his stomach twist. Alexander knocked again, crossing his arms in a huff and looking around the hallway. Even through the small hole, Thomas can see the exhaustion in the man's features. He holds himself differently, and Thomas would need to be blind to miss the bags under his eyes. 

Thomas turns on his heels, ready to crawl back under his comforter when he hears a deep sigh followed by words he swore he'd never hear from Alexander Hamilton. 

“Jefferson- Thomas, please.” a little sigh escapes his mouth, “ _ please  _ let me in.”

It's a combination of his first name and the please that stops him in his tracks. He's still incredibly embarrassed but he's going to have to face it eventually and wouldn't it be better to do it here alone than in front of all their coworkers. 

He turns once more, unlocks the door, and throws it open. He doesn’t invite Alexander in, doesn’t even acknowledge him; instead he turns on his heels and makes his way towards his kitchen. If he’s going to deal with this, he’d rather not be sober. Even from the kitchen he can hear the awkward “um” that Alexander makes, before the door shuts and he hears footsteps. Thomas grabs two wine glasses from his cabinet and pours his favourite red wine into them. The atmosphere is so stilled and awkward that he’s tempted to drain them both and head back to sleep but he’s from Virginia and Southern hospitality and all that. Alexander is - for once - silent, standing quietly in the kitchen door frame. He’s biting his lower lip and his eyes keep flickering all over the area’s that he can view. 

Thomas takes a long sip from the glass and sets Alexander’s down on the bar in front of him. The other man relaxes his shoulders and walks forward to grab the glass.

Hamilton’s been in his house for a good five minutes and not a single word has been spoken. It doesn’t look like his coworker is going to start to conversation, so Thomas clears his throat and begins what will no doubt be the most awkward conversation of his life.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Hamilton.”

Thomas watches as Alexander flinches at the formality. He hates that he reads into the little tell, hates that he hopes it means something. Alexander tosses back the rest of his glass in an obnoxious way that makes Thomas seethe. The man twists his hands together as he looks up at Thomas, “You’re in love with me.”

Now it's Thomas’s turn to flinch. He hadn’t expected Hamilton to be so blunt, but he had once again forgot who he was dealing with. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Thomas lies through his teeth. Of course it matters; he’s spent the last two years pining after the world’s most oblivious, loudmouth, asshole. He’d spent hours jealously watching as Alexander flirted with John from accounting, or Angelica from HR, or Maria from Sales. He’d sat jealously on the sidelines watching as Angelica sat him up with her little sister, Eliza who also happened to also work in legal. His heart ached when he watched as Hamilton practically courted the girl. The flowers, the chocolates, the concert tickets; all while pretending he didn’t want to be in her place. He’d watched as Hamilton crashed that relationship faster than it began. All while Thomas sat quietly at his desk, ignoring the pinching feelings in his heart. 

Alexander was quick to speak, “It does matter. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know.” Thomas bites bitterly, “I didn’t want you to know.”

He had pictured Hamilton finding out on countless occasions, each time a different scenario would flit  it’s way into his head. But each and every time it ended the same, Hamilton finding out and disgustingly telling Thomas that he would never love him back. After Martha, he couldn’t take another heartbreak. 

“But I know now.” Alexander retorts, and just like every other time he won’t give up.

Thomas takes a shaky breath and rubs his hand over his temples; he can feel the pounding that’s building up behind his eyes and he’s so utterly exhausted and he doesn’t want to deal with this. At least not now. 

“That was unintentional.” He sighs, “Please, Alexander, just go.”

“But you meant it right?” Alexander continues as if he hadn’t spoken. Thomas just glares at him and Hamilton takes that as a sign to continues, “You meant it when you said you loved me, right?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, it’s not like Alexander doesn’t have enough to go on already. 

“Yes.” 

Suddenly, he’s overcome by Alexander. The immigrant has entered his personal space, pushing up until his face is inches from Thomas’s own. Alexander’s hands are wrapped around his back, bringing their bodies close together. His lips were so close to Thomas’s that the Virginian could feel his breath, warm against his chilled skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” Alexander asks lowly. His voice a mere whisper, breath creeping hotly across Thomas’s skin. 

“Alex-” Thomas’s words are startled and choked off. They’re  _ so  _ close. Thomas can smell the honey shampoo he uses, the cinnamon lotion Alexander stole off of Lafayette’s desk, the sweet candy that Thomas  **knows** Alexander steals from his desk drawer when he’s not there.  

Alexander brings his hands up to tangle in the Virginian’s tight ebony curls. 

“Please Jefferson.” He breathes, “Thomas  _ please _ , kiss me.”

Southern hospitality and all that. 

Thomas wraps his arm around Alexander’s small waist, and pulls their bodies even closer together. It’s almost slow motion as Thomas leans in, wanting to savour the moment and commit every single detail to memory, because this is a pity kiss and he knows it won't happen again. 

A part of him wonders if Alexander is going to step away before their lips touch. To put himself just within Thomas’s reach and then rip it away when he’s most desperate and vulnerable. He’d like to think that Alexander wasn’t  _ that _ big of an asshole, and an even smaller part of him wonders - hopes even - that Alexander wants this just as much as he does. 

Thomas presses even closer, letting his lips cover Hamilton’s with a groan. Alexander pushes back desperately, their lips slotting together over and over, dragging in the most skin tingling way ever. It’s better than Thomas had ever hoped, better than he could ever dream of, to have Alexander here with him - even if it was for a fleeting moment. 

Thomas breaks the kiss first, pulling his lips from Hamilton’s and letting their breath mingle together. He’s heart aches because he knows that it’s over. 

“You should go.” Thomas says even though the words break his heart. 

Alexander’s brow furrows and he steps closer, “Why do you want me to leave?”

“I get that you don’t return my feelings. I don’t need you to patronize me.”

Alexander looks even more confused, “What do you mean I don’t return your… I love you too.”

Thomas gaps at him, mouth falling open in an entirely unattractive manner. 

“You  _ what _ ?”

The man sends Thomas a sheepish look, “Did I… Did I forget to mention that part?”

Thomas gives him a bewildered look, and Alexander almost immediately starts rambling, “Well I came here to tell you, obviously, but I was worried you didn't actually mean it and then you said you did and I was so excited that it totally slipped my mind. I’m so sorry..”

Thomas glares at the other man, “Oh my God, Alexander. Are you serious? You just  _ forgot  _ to mention that you returned my feelings?”

Alexander pouts in an adorable manner that makes Thomas’s heart clench in his chest.

“I already apologized.” He looks up from beneath thick lashes to smile at Thomas, “Will you kiss me again?”

Thomas smirkes as he slots their lips together again. 

The pounding in his head eventually gets bad enough that Alexander all but forces him to lie down. He lays down in his bed and begs Alexander to join him. Thomas smiles cheekily when Alexander slides under the covers and wraps himself up in the Virginian’s arms. 

It’s less than an hour later when Thomas hears his front door open, a minute later James peeks in his bedroom. Thomas blinks blearily at him as he tightens his arms around a sleeping Alexander. He thinks he sees James’s lips twitch into a fond smile before the man is gone, leaving him and Alexander alone. He tucks his head into the back of Alexander’s neck and breaths in the honey scent of his hair. He presses his lips to the warm tanned skin and breathes a sigh of relief. Alexander tugs at the blankets and they slide off of Thomas, thrusting his body into the cold. He smiles but let's Alexander keep the blankets. 

Southern hospitality and all that. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is so cliche, I'm sorry.


End file.
